Chances that were missed, the reasons all forgotten now.


Metaphor

The magic of life is often nothing more
than bad judgment and mistakes,
taken not quite to extremes, an inside-pitch
Remembered in the quiet, softer light
of retrospect and rescue, fly-balls caught

And the few regrets of a season, looking back,
are not things done badly, missed plays
Although I’ve thrown a few bad innings
But the chances that were missed,
the reasons all forgotten now

But reasons there were, in reasoned times,
for letting friendships drift, or kids
who meant the world, take a bleacher seat
Horizons had the focus then, leaps forward
But you can’t slide a fastball past a kid

And maybe there’s some justice in the fact
they’ll have their own and see it from the mound
The split-fingered, hitching up your pants side
And walk the man at the plate, depending on
believing in a double play, to end the inning

But it’s a lonely walk to the club-house anyway

Poetry Collection: Broken Pieces
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection
BROKEN PIECES
available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.